


Fancy Seeing You Here

by pornographicrainbowlegs



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, M/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-05 23:25:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pornographicrainbowlegs/pseuds/pornographicrainbowlegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean/Death set during Mystery Spot; Death falling for Dean in their chats in the interim waiting for Gabriel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fancy Seeing You Here

“Dean!” Sam practically growls and lunges to catch his fallen brother.

Dean Winchester is gurgling and gasping in Sam’s arms, looking at the ceiling but not really seeing. He wants to smile and be strong for Sammy, but his belly hurts and then it doesn’t hurt and then he’s closing his eyes.

When he opens them again, there’s a strange man standing next to the shark head he’d been admiring only a minute ago. “Fuck, not again,” Dean curses, looking down at his body being grasped by Sam.

“Excuse me?” the man asks as though he’s genuinely misheard.

“Sorry,” Dean narrows and rolls his eyes. “Just that I met your kind before.”

“My kind,” the man rolls the phrase on his tongue as if testing it out. “No, Mister Winchester, I don’t believe you’ve met my kind before.”

“You’re a reaper, ain’t you?” Dean snips. “And what with my deal and all, I’m off to hell, aren’t I?”

“I’m not just _a_ reaper. I’m _the_ reaper, _Mister_ Winchester. Do show a little respect,” oozing class and charisma.

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide. “ _The_ reaper?” he recaps. “ _The_ reaper as in _Death himself_?”

“Yes,” Death concurs.

Dean glances around the room, unsure whether he should try to escape Death like he’d tried to escape Tessa. He entertains the idea for all of five seconds before remembering that reneging on his deal means death for Sammy. He can’t – won’t – do that. He sighs in deeply, shoulders rising and falling with finality. “Well, let’s get this show on the road.”

Death seems to cock his head, almost dog-like with curiosity and mirth. “And where would that show be going?”

Dean’s puzzled for a moment, cocking his head with dog-like confusion. “Aren’t you taking me to hell?”

The reaper slowly sobers back to his somber stature once more. “No, Mister Winchester. Not this time.” But his actions seem to negate his words, when he reaches an arm out towards Dean’s forehead. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, expecting pain but nothing comes.

Distantly, he hears the chorus of Heat of the Moment. _Asia_? he ponders, gently opening his eyes to an incredibly bright light.

He sees Sam jerk awake in the bed next to him. “Rise and shine, Sammy!” he calls, grabbing down to reach his boot to tie it on.

…

“My God, you’re a freak,” Dean spits. He doesn’t mean it, but his brother couldn’t be more frustrating right now. What the hell would they learn during the middle of the day?

“Dean,” Sam snips back.

“Okay, whatever. We’ll go now,” Dean forces out. He’s still mad, but Sam wouldn’t ask this without a reason. Dean turns and stomps towards the cross walk. Looking right, then left, before being laughably blindsided by the puke green car.

“Just my luck,” he says when his spirit stands above his body. He glances up from where Sam is hugging him across the street to where Death is standing. “Of all the ways to go?” Dean accuses.

“I don’t have much choice in this,” Death responds. He’s got the same large, black overcoat on as last time. His hands are clasped behind his back, looking down his nose at Dean.

“So what is the point of all this?” Dean asks, walking across the street so he won’t have to shout at Death anymore.

Death seems to consider this question, but before giving an answer, reaches out to touch Dean’s forehead again. “Wait!” Dean roars, but doesn’t get the full word out before his vision swims with white and his ears are assaulted by Asia again.

…

“God damnit!” Dean shouts. He spins around wildly looking for Death. He spots the reaper standing impossibly straight and still next to the bike rack.

“God has nothing to do with this,” Death defends.

“A desk?” Dean states expectantly. He raises his hand and begins counting off. “I’ve fought vampires, werewolves, and spirits, and I’m done in by plywood?”

This cracks a smile on Death’s stoic face. “So it seems for the moment, Mister Winchester.”

“This is an insult.” Dean is starting to feel toyed with.

Death shrugs his shoulders passively. “That’s life, for you,” he affirms as if it were a twisted proverb.

There’s an awkward pause. Well, for Dean there is an awkward pause. Death doesn’t appear to have ever had an awkward anything. “So are you taking me to hell this time?” Dean inquires, unable to keep the snarky attitude from his tone covering his nervousness.

Death turns to Dean, and if looks could kill. Well. Bad phrasing.

“If only, Mister Winchester,” Death emphasizes, almost angrily yet still gracefully jabbing his fingers to touch Dean’s forehead.

…

“For fucks sake!” Dean shouts. “A sausage?”

“It’s a metaphor.” Death is sitting at the counter this time. There’s a plate of strawberry pancakes in front of him, where he’s slowly cutting up triangles, using his knife to situate the triangle from underneath properly to the one on top before taking the bite slowly to his mouth. There is a sinful smile playing on his mouth when he pulls the fork back.

“Have a seat. Would you like something?” Death asks, finally turning to face Dean.

Dean marvels for a moment before shaking himself out of it and taking a seat next to Death on the uncomfortable red stool next to the bar. “Coffee would be great,” Dean replies.

Death chuckles. A cup of black coffee and a bowl of sugar cubes appear in front of Dean. He’s seen too many weird things in his life to be surprised by pop-up coffee cups.

He adds the sugar to his coffee, stirring it occasionally to cool it off. Death turns back to his plate, leisurely cutting his pancakes into tiny triangles, every once and again adding more syrup.

When the pancakes are gone, Death slides his plate away from him towards the kitchen, and turns his head to look at Dean. “You are pleasant company, Mister Winchester,” he says, and reaches his fingers to touch Dean’s forehead.

…

Dean can still feel the thrum of panic in his body when he pops up in spirit form watching his head bleed out in the bath tub. “This is either really creative, or really creepy,” Dean turns. As he expected, Death was leaning on the door jam.

“Cover yourself, Mister Winchester,” Death articulates, his eyes fixed on Dean’s.

“What?” Dean cracks a smile. “Don’t like what you see?” He cocks his hip to the side and places his hand on his hip, gesturing lewdly at Death.

Death’s already thin lips go deathly… Never mind.

…

“But I love tacos!” Dean exclaims, using a wide sweeping gesture with his hands at the plate on the table, looking at Death standing next to the sink.

“Be glad it wasn’t burgers.”

…

“How _shocking_ it is to see you again,” Dean stresses.

“You think you’re so cute-“

“I think I’m adorable.”

…

“You idiot!” Dean screams at his brother, even though he’s already dead and no one can hear him. “What were you thinking? – wrestling a guy with an axe!” Dean tries to smack Sam upside the head, but his hand goes through his brother’s brain. It’s an unusual sensation he doesn’t want to repeat.

Death appears looking dapper as ever next to the Spot owner. “It’s not entirely his fault, you know.” He sounds wondrous and monotonous all wrapped up in a single package. Dean is nearly startled, but has come to expect these meetings. He cannot remember them after Death pops him back into himself, but in death comes realization? He’s not sure how this all works.

“And I suppose you know whose fault it is?” Dean is rather ill-tempered. But who wouldn’t be after dying – so outrageously – this many times in a row?

“As a matter of fact,” Death pauses for dramatic effect, “I do.”

Dean waits a bit, half expecting Death to reveal his secrets. But when he doesn’t, Dean cannot hold back his cantankerousness. “I don’t suppose you’d share with the class?”

“You’re a smart boy,” Death needles. “You figure it out.”

…

Dean is now done being surprised by any of the deaths that occur. So this time was an arrow to the heart… last time was a baseball bat, and the time before that was an exploding canning factory. Whatever is behind this has too much imagination for its own good.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Dean protests. “What were we even doing at the archery range?” He gestures wide with his arms, as if he could encompass the supernaturalism of it all.

“I’m not in charge of the rules,” Death alleges.

“Then why am I always bumping into you?” Dean howls with incredulity.

“Maybe I just like your company.” Death almost appears offended.

But before he can think on it more, Dean is back in bed, with the Asia song blaring obnoxiously from the tinny radio.

…

Dean ghosts out next to his body, still dripping arterial blood from the bite marks on his neck. He can practically feel Death’s eyes on the back of his head. When Dean turns around, confirming his suspicions, he lets the request flow. “Would you like to get pie with me some time?”

Death looks affronted for perhaps a second at most before gathering his usual impassive expression. “Yes, Mister Winchester. I think I’d like that very much.”


End file.
